


Colors of the Heart

by Wish_On_A_Wing



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Young Michael, michael is a little over 14, well sorta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 06:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20737634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wish_On_A_Wing/pseuds/Wish_On_A_Wing
Summary: Jay doesn't even ask where Michael wants to be dropped off. He's already on course.





	Colors of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Michael Guerin Week 2019, Day 6: Pre-canon and/or lost decade.
> 
> Basically I just thought how it would have been nice if Michael had at least one decent person in his early teenage years that wasn't Max and Isobel and this came out. Unbeta'd due to time and lack of finding one, really sorry about that.  
Title from a song by the same name, by Uverworld.

Michael jumps awake when someone touches his arm. Some people might see it as a nasty sleeping habit. Michael sees it as a necessary survival skill.

Not this time, however. This time, it's just Jay. He has one finger on his lips, marking for Michael to stay quiet, not to wake the other three boys who are sleeping in the room. Michael understood, of course. If the old hag catches them up and awake after bedtime, they would both regret it.

Jay gestures his head towards the door, which was always open – Mrs. Sapphira always insisted on that, heaven forbid anyone in this shit place would get an ounce of privacy – but it works in their favor now. Michael got the hint and started getting dressed quickly and silently as Jay left the room. He sets up what few spare clothes he has to look as similar to a sleeping kid as possible. His bunk was the top bunk at the most shaded corner in the room, and not by coincidence. He knows it would look believable enough if anyone were to check the room.

Michael meets Jay outside the house, where he's already waiting by the old, rusty, beige truck the group home had.

"Can I drive?", Michael asks, though he knows his chances are slim. Sure enough, Jay only contemplates for a second before saying, "Not tonight, Mikey."  
Jay was the only person allowed to call him Mikey, and he only did it on nights like this. He was only a couple of years older than Michael, but somehow the nickname didn't bother him that much. He's been teaching Michael to drive for a while now, ever since Michael turned fourteen – not that Jay had a license himself, but that sure as hell didn't stop him. Michael thinks he's getting pretty good, but they're still within hearing distance from the house, so he doesn't argue and just gets into the passenger seat.

"Going into town?" Michael asks after a moment. Jay nods. He has a boyfriend from another school, on the other side of town, though he didn't tell Michael how they met. Jay told him that sometimes he goes there after school when he can manage a plausible cover-up, but every now and then, on the weekends, he would sneak out at night, borrow the group home's truck and drive out to see him, and he'd let Michael hitch a ride. His family was great, he once told Michael. Really accepting. Michael wondered what that was like.

Jay doesn't even ask where Michael wants to be dropped off. He's already on course.

"That was a load of crap today. You know that, right?" Michael says after a few minutes of silence. It was a Saturday, and on Saturdays, Mrs. Sapphira brings her minister to teach the kids at the group home about "the right way of living". Sometimes it was about how we're all sinners even in the womb, sometimes about the merciful nature of our lord and savior, and sometimes – like today – about the importance of a "normal family" in today's society.

"I know, Mikey," Jay said quietly. "I'm okay. Thanks."

Michael examines him. Jay is good at hiding what he's thinking, but after a year and a half, Michael was getting good at reading him. He doesn't look okay.

"You sure? Cause I can…"

"It's fine," Jay cuts him off, a little sternly, "Just drop it. Please."

Michael decides not to push and observes Jay out of the corner of his eye. His gaze rests a moment on an ugly scar that looks a little too much like a cigarette burn on Jay's neck – a souvenir from his last foster home, or at least that's what the kid that got to the group home along with Jay, about two years after Michael, had told someone once.

"We're almost there," Jay says after about fifteen minutes of drive. He hesitates, then asks, "Hey, what is it with you and this place, anyway?"

As far as Michael could remember, this is the first time Jay had asked him about Foster Homestead Ranch, even though he's been driving Michael there like this for almost a year. He looks at Michael for an answer, but he doesn’t ask again.

Jay is a really good guy. A little too broody sometimes, and with a bit of a hubris complex, but a good guy in his core. Jay is the guy who risks getting caught sneaking out to see his boyfriend just to take Michael with him. Jay was the one who started a small kitchen fire as a distraction when Mrs. Sapphira called in another exorcism, this time for Linda, the girl who was discovered with a copy of "Good Omens" hidden under her mattress. Michael was just the guy who helped him out.

All this goes through Michael's head when he tries to find a way to answer Jay's question without lying to him. Lying always tastes wrong in his mouth, like the aftertaste of food that's gone bad. He doesn't want to do that with Jay. He could probably get away with staying silent, but that feels unfair, too – both to Jay and to Michael. So instead he just says, "I like Foster Homestead Ranch. It's nice and quiet. At night, it almost feels like... I don’t know. Comfort, I guess? I can't explain it any more than that."

And it's not a lie, not really, just not the whole truth. Even after everything that's happened there a few months ago, Foster Homestead Ranch is where he wants to go when things take a turn for the worse. Most nights he can't even explain it to himself, but he can't help it. It's the only place he's got.

Jay doesn't say anything, just looks at him as he's pulling over.

"Alright then. I'll pick you up in a few hours, yeah?" Michael nods and starts to get out of the car. "Don't forget your sleeping bag. It's fucking cold out here."

"Gee, fine, mom," Michael says in a scowl, but there isn’t much heat in it. Jay just snorts and gestures again to the back. Michael takes his sleeping bag – well, technically it's Max's sleeping bag, but whatever – and Jay drives away.

Michael hikes a little off the road, to somewhere less visible, then decides it's a good enough spot. It's a beautiful night, clear and cloudless, though it is cold enough that his breath fogs. He wraps himself up in the sleeping bag and lies down, trying to pick out the different constellations. He's been borrowing astronomy books from the library and taking them with him to detention, so he knows most constellations by name, shape, true distance between the stars assembling it and mythological story, but it's still soothing to let his eyes seek the stars and his mind wander at a thousand miles per hour.

He knows, logically, that the chances of him finding anything new here, of seeing anything that he hasn't seen a hundred times before, are too slim to matter. He tells himself that he's already given up on the childish dream of anybody returning for him. Coming here is not even about that anymore, he tells himself. It's about that feeling he gets here, that tiny bit of serenity mixed with anticipation that he can't put a name to. Still, there is a little part of him that can't help thinking…

Michael moves a little to make himself more comfortable, pulls a small book from his pocket, and settles in. Maybe tonight will be the night. Maybe. Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Words? Please leave a comment!
> 
> You can also find me on my tumblr: wish-on-a-wing


End file.
